Sierra Foxtrot Adventures
by K.S. Reynard
Summary: An assortment of oneshots and short stories set in the near-future Sierra Foxtrot AU. Not recommended for purveyors of lofty narratives and general common sense. To minimize confusion, I recommend reading at least a bit of Sierra Foxtrot before this. NEWEST INSTALLMENT: "Action Hacker"
1. McCloud Family Reunion

_AUTHOR'S NOTE(S):  
_

 _Welcome to_ Sierra Foxtrot Adventures, _a motley collection of completely random shorts and oneshots set in the  
_ Sierra Foxtrot _universe. Full disclosure: if you haven't read_ Sierra Foxtrot _, you're not going to understand a lot of the details, such as why it's not in the future, why there are no spaceships, why these OCs are so prevalent, and why everything is so mind-numbingly, exaggeratedly, painfully stupid and unrealistic. Consider this the dumping ground for my most ridiculous ideas, necessitated by my current decision not to start any new major stories now that my longest ever work is finished._

 _And remember, if you hate this particular oneshot, don't worry - there won't be a part 2._

* * *

 **McCloud Family Reunion**

 _Timeline:_ _s_ _ix months after the end of_ Sierra Foxtrot

Following a short drive from his downtown apartment that he now shared with a special blue vixen, Fox turned his oversized off-road truck into the narrow, sloped driveway belonging to his father and pulled up to the older fox's garage door.

Exhaling, he turned off the engine and looked to his right at Krystal, seated in the passenger's seat next to him. The blue vixen smiled uneasily, unsure of what to expect in the upcoming hours. Every few years, the greater McCloud family arranged for a large get-together in the distant town of Wharton, situated in the foothills of the mighty Western Cornerian Mountains. Thanks to his busy mercenary lifestyle, Fox had blown off previous get-togethers; but with the surprising lull in world turmoil after the defeat of East Fortuna, Fox found himself with more time than usual to pursue leisure activities. Krystal's cultured past brought with it many opportunities to learn about things he had never given much thought to before, such as art, cuisine, travel, and even home decor.

After pausing for a minute, Fox climbed out of his truck and claimed his suitcase from the rear seat. Krystal did the same, and the two walked up to the elder McCloud's front doorstep. Fox did the honor of ringing the doorbell. With his sensitive ears, he picked up on the sound of rustling inside the door. Seconds later, the light tapping of toe-claws rattled across the hardwood floor inside.

The door opened to reveal James, wearing a black sweater and blue jeans. Strangely, though, he only wore a single sock. His headfur looked a bit disheveled, and traces of red coated his face.

Krystal read his surface-level thoughts and giggled. Fox, on the other hand, wondered what she had cued in on.

"Oh hey, you're early," said James. "It would've been nice to know you were going to show up ahead of schedule."

Fox frowned. "I tried calling you a half hour ago to let you know. You didn't answer."

"Oh, really?" asked James. "I must have silenced my phone for some unknown, very unsuspicious reason."

An awkward silence ensued.

"Well, come on in," James added. Mystic and I have our suitcases in the back of my truck already. We can leave whenever you're ready."

Fox led Krystal through the doorway and into the entry foyer. The entry to James's living room stood to the right. From the living room, a feminine shriek echoed through the house. "AAA! Don't look!"

Of course, the woman's panicked overture had the opposite effect, and Fox spun to the right in time to see Mystic struggling to pull a white turtleneck sweater over her otherwise bare torso. However, she stood with her back to him, preventing him from seeing anything too scandalous.

"Come on! Fit!"

After seconds of struggling, Mystic wiggled into the reluctant garment and promptly kicked a discarded brassiere under a nearby couch to prevent Fox from seeing it. Her magenta-furred face took on a reddish property as she turned around and walked into the foyer. She glared at James and then Fox, furious about the latter's unannounced early arrival.

"Um, hi, Mystic," Fox offered.

The magenta vixen returned a single, cold word. "Hello."

Noticing the already-deteriorating state of affairs, James crossed his arms and asked his wife, "Sweetheart, have you met Krystal yet?"

Mystic stared at the blue vixen, surprise written on her features. "Why yes, I have, in fact."

James raised an eyebrow. "What? How?"

"She used to be my boss back when I worked for…"

Krystal panicked, not wanting the details of her previous life to be spilled. So, she turned to James and loudly blurted out, "…Excuse me—where's the lavatory?"

"Where's the _laboratory_?" James asked, confused. "I don't have one of those."

Krystal smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. "No, you blithering idiot—I meant…whatever. It doesn't matter. I just wanted to wash my hands, that's all."

"Oh, in that case, there's a bathroom down the hall over there." He pointed to the left.

Krystal let out an indignant huff. "Thank you." She walked towards the restroom even though she had no need to use it, or a need to wash her hands, for that matter.

As Krystal rounded the corner on the left side of the house's entry foyer, James commented, "Well, since we're all ready to hit the road, why don't you two throw your bags in the back of my truck? The reunion's not going to come to us."

"Yeah, about that," Fox replied, concern in his voice. "You're still using your old truck? I wouldn't trust that thing to make it across Corneria City, let alone a three hundred mile trip across the country."

"Oh, nonsense!" James replied with a dismissive hand wave. "It runs fine. I just had the oil changed two days ago."

"And how does that mean anything for reliability?"

"It doesn't," said James, smiling. "Trust me, though—it runs. It'll get us there."

Fox let out a tense breath. "If you say so."

After James retrieved his missing sock from the living room and waited for Krystal to wash her hands, he led Mystic, Krystal, and Fox towards his garage. Upon opening the door to the garage, he pressed a button on an opener nearby and watched as the main garage door creaked open.

Fox turned his attention to the faded red truck parked in the garage. It looked like it had seen better days. Its paint had chipped and oxidized in parts, and three small rust holes dotted the rear quarter panels. The chrome on the wheels had turned to pitted bare metal, and while a vinyl cover stretched over the bed, it looked floppy and ragged. Fox figured he could tear a hole in it by merely applying a bit of pressure with his fist. Shaking his head and questioning his father's judgment, he loaded his suitcase into the bed of the truck, along with Krystal's.

"All right—road trip time," James grinned. He climbed into the driver's seat while the other three piled in after him. Due to the fact that James's truck was the extended cab version, Fox and Krystal were forced to cram themselves into the undersized rear passenger area marked by a soil-stained cloth bench seat. Fox occupied the part of the bench closest to the right rear window; and to his relief, Mystic slid the front seat forward to give him more leg room.

James turned the key in the ignition. The starter groaned and squealed for three seconds straight before the engine finally sputtered to life. A faint clicking sound emanated from the engine bay every half second, and it increased in pace as James shifted into Drive and moved out of the garage.

" _This is such a horrible idea,"_ Fox thought to himself.

Ever the telepath, Krystal picked up on his internal musings and leaned into the shoulder of her boyfriend—well, that wasn't quite the correct term, since the two shared reservations about intimacy and serious romance due to the yawning chasm of an age difference between them. Perhaps 'mutual friends' would have been a more accurate term for them? Anyway, Krystal picked up on his thoughts and whispered into his ear, "I have a bad feeling about this trip."

Their concerns went unheeded, as James left his house and driveway behind and pulled onto the street that ran parallel to his property.

After clipping on her seatbelt, Mystic reached into the cupholder to her left and grasped a 32oz. water bottle with a sport lid. She drank it at an alarming rate, implying that some sort of dehydrating activity had taken place before the group's departure.

From the back seat, Krystal smirked and nudged Fox. She whispered into his ear. "I'm glad that poor girl finally had something go right for her."

"What do you mean by that?" Fox whispered back.

"You do realize what they were doing when we drove up, right?"

The reality dawned on Fox. His face flushed. Displeased, he glared at Krystal and said, "You could have sensed that with your telepathy and told me to wait in the truck!"

James looked over his shoulder. "Hey, your whispering is getting a bit loud back there. How about some music?"

Fox shrugged disinterestedly, which of course prompted James to turn on the truck's antiquated stereo that still featured a cassette player and a single CD player that had been a state-of-the-art development when the truck rolled off the assembly line. A generic country song blared from the crappy speakers, instantly bringing a frown to the face of everyone in the car except for James.

 _Ridin' in my truck down these back roads_

 _Skynyrd and Hank playin' on the radio_

 _Beer in my hand and my girl by my side_

 _When we get home we gonna have a good time, oh yeah_

"No," Mystic declared, mashing a button below the radio display panel and changing the channel to a generic Top 40 station. A split second later, the sounds of robotic, autotuned vocals, standard-issue synthesizers, and derivative lyrics indicative of dancing as a metaphor for sex filled the truck's interior. The song completed its second chorus before the bridge began and guest rapper $KITTLE$ started laying down his signature rhymes. Of course, thanks to the song being on "family friendly" Top 40 radio, every originally profane lyric disappeared from the song. This meant that roughly a quarter of the entire lyrical bridge ceased to exist.

Krystal looked physically hurt. "This is terrible," she moaned. "Is there a classical station in this area?"

Not enjoying the pop collaboration himself, James took the opportunity to turn the radio dial to the nearest classical station. However, because classical music failed to attract enough listeners to pay for the station's ad revenue, the programmers interspersed the antiquated music with a political talk station with a slight—but not overbearing—leftwards bias. In other words, it was about as interesting as watching Uncle Peppy change the oil in his lawn mower. On second thought, scratch that—Peppy tended to work on his lawn equipment while drunk, and hysterical episodes ensued far more regularly than they should have.

To Krystal's dismay, the station's political programming took precedence over classical music at the moment.

" _This afternoon, we have special guest Bernard Watkins, minority whip in the Cornerian Assembly's office of foreign affairs, here to talk about the ramifications of Prime Minister Schauer's response to the ongoing East Fortunan refugee crisis. Watkins claims that the Prime Minister's 'hardline' stance towards providing aid to the refugees is unethical and should be challenged at every corner by the Assembly."_

Krystal sniffled and looked at the floor of the truck. Only Fox understood why. "Turn it off," she whimpered.

"Well, that got depressing fast," said James, his voice as flat as a dying patient's heartbeat. A moment later, he muted the radio, enveloping the cabin in silence. That is, until Fox pulled a seat of earbuds out of his pocket and connected them to his phone. The thin, tinny sound of death metal music wafted from the incomplete seal around his ear canals.

"Bloody Nora, that is horrid," Krystal remarked, sliding away from Fox and claiming the seat directly behind James.

In the front passenger's seat, Mystic shook her head and frowned. _"This is going to be a long trip."_ She reached for her gargantuan water bottle again and took another gulp.

* * *

 _-_ § _-_

* * *

After navigating through Corneria City's nightmarish traffic, the four finally made it onto Interstate 5—the longest highway in the entire country of Corneria. The road led straight to their destination, which could have been considered either a blessing or a curse depending on who was driving. While simple in terms of navigation, the drive was mind-numbingly dull.

" _Only three and a half more hours of this,"_ Fox thought to himself.

Because no one could agree on the music, the only sounds in the cockpit amounted to road and wind noise from the truck, in addition to the awkward flapping sound of the floppy vinyl cover behind Fox's head. He glanced over his shoulder every few minutes just to make sure that it had not sheared in half and flown away in the breeze.

In the front seat, Mystic's now-empty water bottle sat in one of the cupholders. The magenta vixen's eyes scanned the roadway ahead, nervousness appearing on her face as she did.

In a weak voice, she asked, "James, sweetheart, can we stop somewhere soon?"

"Why would you want to do that?" James asked in response. "We just pulled onto the interstate. We're not even close to Wharton yet."

Mystic pleaded with her eyes and pointed to her water bottle.

James realized what she was implying. "Oh… Well, I've only got a half tank of gas left, so I might as well fill up so we don't have to stop later."

"Thank you."

At the next exit, James pulled onto the exit ramp and announced, "This is the last time we're going to stop, so if you want to grab something inside while I fill up, do it."

The stop took fifteen minutes. While James filled up his truck and Mystic used the restroom, Fox bought a large fruit bar to share with Krystal on the next leg of the trip. After the four piled back into the truck and waited with bated breath as James barely managed to start it, they navigated back towards the interstate and pulled onto it again.

All of two minutes passed before an ominous "Check Engine Light" warning icon appeared in the center of James's tachometer. The vulpine frowned. Now was not the time for this to be happening. He tried hiding the light from the others in the truck, but the subtle 'bong' noise it made when it illuminated clued all of them in on the presence of a mechanical problem. Fox stared a hole through the back of his seat, while Mystic rolled her eyes.

At that point, James happened to look in his driver's-side mirror, only to see his fuel door hanging open and the gas cap dangling against the side of the truck.

He smiled and exhaled. "Don't worry, gang—it's just a loose gas cap. I'll take care of it, and we'll be good to go again."

All three passengers rolled their eyes in unison as James pulled to the side and climbed out of the truck. Despite being on the side of Corneria's largest interstate, he neglected to close his door. The sound of the speeding traffic entered the truck's cabin. Despite it being mildly obnoxious, Fox, Mystic, and Krystal all agreed that it was preferable to the awkward silence that had dominated their road trip thus far.

After climbing out of the truck, James jogged towards the opened fuel door and clipped the gas cap back on. Slamming the fuel door shut, he rubbed his hands together and turned around. At that very second, a dark gray older model sedan veered too far to the right. Its wheels wandered over the rumblestrip dividing the highway's right lane with the shoulder where James's truck sat with the driver's door ajar.

James flattened himself against the side of his truck as the car came within three feet of hitting him. However, while the speeding vehicle may have missed James, it did not miss his opened door. The car sheared the door clean off its hinges and sent it flying down the shoulder ahead. The damaged car veered back onto the road, but did not stop. In fact, after ruining James's door, it picked up speed.

A hateful scowl appeared on James's muzzle. _"You think you can get away with that? Dream on, punk."_ Determination in his eyes, he leaped back into the driver's seat and floored the gas pedal, startling Fox, Mystic, and Krystal even further. The truck left a pair of black skid marks and two small clouds of smoke in its wake.

Foot to the floor, James picked up speed rapidly. His three vulpine passengers pleaded for him to stop, pick up his door, and call his insurance company, but the roar from the open space where the door had formerly been conveniently drowned out their voices. With his teeth bared, he accelerated to 100 miles per hour, gaining on the fleeing sedan.

The car's driver must have realized that he was being chased, because at the next exit, he darted onto the offramp and sped up the hill towards a right turn that led to a quiet, winding, back road that acted as the connector between two sleepy redneck vistas.

James continued his pursuit. Overtaking a minivan on his right, he swerved onto the exit ramp and drifted through the stop sign at the top of the ramp. The old, front-drive sedan's driver lacked the skills and the testicular fortitude to drive like a manly man, which allowed James to further close the gap. The two-lane road quickly left civilization behind. Sprawling fields full of cotton, flowers, and non-sapient livestock (furries have to get their meat from somewhere, right?) stretched as far as the eye could see on both sides of the road. No other cars came into view. This allowed James to use every inch of asphalt to his advantage. He curved each apex with furious precision, bringing him closer and closer to the back bumper of the would-be escaped hooligan.

When a mere fifty feet separated him from his target, something unexpected happened. The fleeing car's passenger stuck his head out the right window, revealing himself as an orange feline wearing a black hoodie. He held a semi-automatic handgun between his hands.

"Get down!" James shouted.

No sooner had he spoken than the gunman opened fire. A bullet penetrated James's windshield, cleaving through the area where Mystic's head had just been. Three more rounds shattered pieces of the windshield and plinked off the truck's hood. James swerved into the oncoming lane to avoid being hit by more rounds.

"You just gave yourself a death wish, punk," he muttered, reaching for the center console to his right. He popped it open to reveal a snub-nosed sawed-off shotgun, which he snatched up. Wasting no time, he tossed it into his left hand, stuck it out the left side of the truck, and emptied both barrels into the fleeing car. The car's horn sounded a second later, and it did not stop.

A curve appeared in the road ahead, along with two nearby road signs. One read 'Allegro River,' and the other issued a 40 mile per hour speed warning for the upcoming turn.

With the dead driver's head smashing the horn, his passenger reached for the steering wheel and frantically cranked it to the left to make the turn. To his horror, however, his comrade's foot remained on the gas pedal. The gray car entered the corner, but its speed prevented it from holding the road. It skidded off the right side of the curve just as an old concrete bridge came into view. The car bounded across the grass on the right edge of the road, then careened over an embankment. It disappeared from view with a distant splash.

Stunned silence filled the interior of James's truck. Without a word, the vulpine pulled onto the right edge of the bridge. The four looked out the right side window in time to see the fleeing car sink in the river, with no traces of either the dead driver or his cohort.

"Did you just do that?" asked Mystic, fur standing on end.

James nodded grimly and shoved his sawed-off shotgun back into the center console. "All right, then—back to business."

"Uh, yeah," Fox mumbled from the back seat while Krystal clutched him like she would a life preserver in a raging ocean tempest.

* * *

 _-_ § _-_

* * *

After James's brutal double murder of the people responsible for destroying his truck door, conversation came to a dead halt—not as if conversation was possible with the overwhelming sound of air rushing into the truck's cab through the gaping hole where the driver's side door used to be.

Over the raging wind that blasted into the truck and chilled all four vulpines, James looked over his shoulder and shouted, "I'm gonna stop at Red-Mart and get something to fix the door!"

"You should have just picked it up on the road, you pillock!" Krystal shouted, pinning her ears back.

Thanks to the wind noise, James heard nothing except "pillock," the meaning of which he did not know because he had not watched any British telly. Thus, he ignored Krystal and pulled into the highway's right lane. At the next exit, he turned onto a busy avenue flanked on both sides by big-box retail stores, including his intended destination.

The Red-Mart store sported a vast parking lot and a red and white smiley face emblem that hung above the sprawling supercenter's dual automatic entry doors. After turning at the light leading to the left side of the shopping center, James hunted for a parking space until he located a remote slice of pavement a solid two hundred meters from the front doors.

He turned off the engine. "Anyone want to come in with me?"

No one replied.

"All right, then. I guess that's a 'no.' Oh well, I'll be back in fifteen minutes or so."

Fox, Krystal, and Mystic sat in stone dead silence as James climbed out of the truck and walked towards Red-Mart's front door. When he finally exited listening range, all three vulpines let out a collective sigh of relief.

"I am so sorry about all this," Mystic whimpered to Fox. "I thought I was doing you a favor by convincing him to drive instead of you."

A sympathetic look appeared on Krystal's face. "It's okay, Mystic. I'm sure I'd be just as miserable if Fox was driving."

"Hey!" Fox snapped.

"Oh, that's not what I meant," Krystal explained, "What I meant to say was that merely having to share a cramped space with your father makes me want to take that shotgun and off myself."

Fox cringed. "Sorry, Krystal. He can be a bit of an idiot sometimes."

"You don't say," the vixen replied, her expression as hard as steel. "For future reference, next time you have something like this planned, count me out."

"Even holidays, like Christmas?"

Krystal returned a grim nod. "You heard what I said. I would much prefer a relaxing, comfortable holiday alone with you to _this,"_ she pointed to the missing driver's door.

Mystic let out a sigh, deciding to pose a question she hoped would not be too personal. "If you don't mind me asking, how are you two doing? If I remember, Fox, you seem to have a problem with the age gap between me and your dad." A trace of sarcasm dripped from her voice. "So, how's that working out for you with her since she's literally five times your age?"

Fox bit his lip, while Krystal frowned. "It's complicated," the blue vixen admitted. "Fox means the world to me, but my age still puts him off. I'm sure he'll come around eventually, but…" She feathered his neck fur. "…For now, we're mostly just friends who live together. I can wait for him, though. I've gotten used to waiting."

Patting Krystal on the shoulder, Fox added, "We've been living together for a few months and we're sharing a bed now, but yeah, she's right. We're learning to trust each other more, but there's still a lot of work left."

"Age is just a number, Fox," Krystal whispered into his ear. "I'm still a girl at heart."

Fox ruffled the fur on the back of her neck and kissed her cheek. "I'm sure you are."

After a brief, awkward lull in the conversation, Krystal directed her attention towards Lilac. "Since you asked me and Fox about it, how are you and James doing? What have you been up to since East Fortuna surrendered?"

The magenta vixen nibbled at one of her claws and replied, "I got a new job at a private cybersecurity company in downtown Corneria City. I guess that makes me the breadwinner in the household." She smiled. "Life's been good since the last time I saw you two. For all of his stupid moments, James is a joy to live with, and…well, let's just say he really knows how to make anything romantic."

"Even getting shot at and murdering two people for hitting his door?" Krystal fired back.

Mystic's face fell. "Well, no. But, you know, I'd probably do the same thing if I was in his position."

Fox raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Hey—they tried to shoot me. I'm not going to take that lying down."

Fox shrugged. "Huh. You might have a point."

A moment later, James returned to the truck, carrying five rolls of duct tape. After opening the plastic wrap holding them together in one unit, he set to work taping over the gap in the bodywork created by the missing door. As the minutes passed, he assembled a door made entirely out of duct tape. To complete his laughable creation, he interlaced strips of the sticky material between the top of the door and the sill, creating a redneck version of a racing window net.

"This isn't what I thought he was going to do at all," Fox grumbled into Krystal's ear.

"What did you expect? For him to buy a new door? I'm sure those are easy to find around these parts."

"Ooh, snarky—I like it," Fox replied.

"I'm only this way because I'm properly angry," said Krystal, crossing her arms.

"Well then, is there something I can do to make you feel better?"

Krystal glared at Fox with frustration in her eyes. "I would absolutely adore a full-body massage once we get to your family's retreat, but I know you're going to say 'no' because it bothers you to do anything sensual with me."

Fox scratched the back of his head. "Well, you can't exactly blame me. After all, if I had a living great-great grandmother and she asked me to do what you're suggesting, I'd probably throw up. On second thought, no—I'd _definitely_ throw up."

"Fox, your bloody hypothetical grandmum is a wrinkly old hag. I'm not. If you hadn't figured out my secret, you'd still think I was 22, and your beautiful, rugged hands would be all over me when we got to the retreat. Come on! By now, you should have realized that there's nothing different about me other than the number of times this planet's gone around the sun with me on it."

Stroking his muzzle, Fox murmured, "Well, when you say it like that…"

" _Jackpot,"_ thought Krystal.

A moment later, Mystic opened her door and climbed out to allow James to straddle his way back into the driver's seat thanks to the fact that his new duct tape door could not open. When the older vulpine had claimed his seat, Mystic jumped back in and closed her door.

"We're late now. We'd better hurry up," said James, reaching for his key and sliding it in the ignition. He turned it. The starter whirred and groaned for five seconds, spinning more and more slowly with every revolution. The engine seemed on the brink of turning over, but it held firm and remained off. After seven seconds, the starter gave up with a clicking sound, leaving the truck's interior silent in its wake.

Mystic, Fox, and Krystal gave James a collective death stare.

"Oops. Looks like the battery bit the dust. No matter, though—I'll head back into the store and get a new one."

Once again, Mystic opened her door and got out to allow James to exit and head back into Red-Mart. As the red vulpine walked back towards the sliding front doors, Fox looked out his window at the wall of black clouds on the horizon and asked, "Was it supposed to rain today?"

* * *

 _-_ § _-_

* * *

After thirty minutes spent buying a new battery and installing it, James navigated his way back onto the interstate, aiming to make up lost time. All the while, the dark clouds on the horizon moved in, blocking out the sun and turning the formerly bright day into a dreary episode filled with unwanted precipitation. As the truck meandered into the highway's central lane, raindrops descended from the heavens. At first, the rain amounted to nothing more than a faint sprinkling.

However, as the minutes passed, the rainstorm picked up steam and morphed into a bona fide deluge. Even with James's windshield wipers on full blast, the view ahead became obscured. Nearby cars flashed their hazard lights, partially to warn other drivers and partially to increase their own visibility to the traffic around them.

Above the sound of the pounding rain, Fox thought he heard something else. So did Krystal. In unison, they looked behind them at the old bedcover as it flopped in the driving rain and the howling wind. Just then, a mighty wind whipped up and slipped under the side of the bedcover through a tiny gap between it and the truck's frame. The vinyl fabric billowed in the wind like a sail before it sheared apart with a horrific tearing sound that James heard through his redneck racing net, which, needless to say, did nothing to keep the rain off his left arm.

The ruined bedcover took flight in the breeze and soared into traffic. A minivan ran over it seconds later, although thankfully it did no damage—to the minivan, that is.

Horror etched onto their faces, Fox and Krystal stared at the four suitcases in the now-exposed truck bed as the rain bombarded them.

"Oh no! All my clothes are going to be soaked! I have things in there that will be ruined!" Krystal moaned.

James gritted his teeth. At the same time, a devious glint appeared in his eyes. "I have a solution," he said, raising his right index finger. "If I drive fast enough, the rain will go right over the bed, and the suitcases won't get wet."

Fox, Mystic, and Krystal stared aghast at him. To their collective dismay, the older vulpine seemed oblivious to their disapproval. Finding an open spot in the slow-moving traffic, he darted into the open left lane and pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

"Here we go!"

Instinctively, Fox and Krystal sandwiched themselves together and embraced one another, realizing that the end was near. In spite of the diluvian torrent assaulting the highway, James topped eighty miles an hour. He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, his trademark smirk plastered on his lips.

* * *

 _-_ § _-_

* * *

The remaining miles went by like a blur as James raced down the waterlogged interstate and exited in Wharton. Because the family retreat was situated outside the Wharton city limits, only a series of back roads separated him and his terrified passengers from their destination. Rooster tails flew from the tires as James rounded the final corner leading to the McCloud family's rented plot of land.

At long last, their destination appeared on the right side of the road. A large, open green field separated the road from a long, brick-coated building that marked the main dining hall where the majority of the McCloud family was scheduled to eat lunch. Behind a line of trees near the dining hall, the outlines of numerous campers and RV's came into view. The group's home away from home resided in one of the rented estate's guest apartment complexes, but James had other things to focus on at the moment.

Namely, turning into the retreat complex.

Still carrying too much speed, James cranked the wheel to the right and slammed on the brakes. In the process, he hydroplaned over a large puddle on the right side of the road and missed the gravel entry road. The truck skidded past the entry and bounded onto the grassy field in front of the dining hall. Grass chunks flew from the tires as it bounced over a depression in the ground. The violent impact sent the back of the truck airborne and rotated the entire vehicle to the right. In the chaos, one of the suitcases in the truck bed flying. It soared over the edge of the truck and hit the ground with so much force that it burst open, scattering clothes on the wet ground.

James's truck finally came to a stop in the center of the field, a trail of grassy carnage in its shadow. After pausing to collect himself, he pushed the gas pedal and turned back towards the gravel driveway that he had meant to turn onto in the first place.

The truck refused to move; and as he focused his ears, he noticed a distinct lack of engine noise.

" _That's not good."_

He turned the key off, then tried cranking the engine again. The starter moaned and whined, but the motor refused to turn over. It dawned on him a moment later why.

"The engine's seized," he stated in a flat tone of voice.

"I thought you just had the oil changed," Fox commented.

James looked past Mystic out his right side window and noticed a pool of black liquid mixed in with the shredded grass leading back to the road. "Looks like that bump broke something and made it leak out."

Krystal decided she had experienced enough misery in the back seat. Fists clenched, she yelled, "Get me out of here! Mystic, open the bloody door!"

The magenta vixen leaped into action and threw open her door, allowing Fox to open the right side rear half-door and let himself and Krystal out. The soggy grass soaked through their shoes almost immediately, but Krystal's attention drifted elsewhere—specifically to the jettisoned suitcase and the clothing scattered around it.

"My clothes!" she yelped, sprinting towards the suitcase and collecting various feminine garments, all of which bore traces of mud. Cursing under her breath, she shoved them back into her suitcase and forced the top of it shut with her bare hands. She picked it up and carried it with an arm over the broken front zipper, cognizant of the fact that by picking it up, she had slathered the front of her light blue dress with mud.

She walked up to Fox while he, Mystic, and James claimed their waterlogged suitcases from the bed of the truck. Sheer hatred permeated her body. She glared at James with a look that could have killed lesser men; and her stare made it clear to him that she was holding back the urge to punch him in the face.

For once, James acted bashful and scratched the back of his head, much like Fox did. To deflect from Krystal's rage and the fact that his truck had broken down in the middle of the retreat's central field after shredding the grass to pieces, he glanced at the dining hall and said, "Let's see if there's still anyone in there. We can put our suitcases outside the door for now. No one's going to steal them. After all, it's all family here!"

Fox glanced at his watch and noticed the time—2:34 PM. Lunch had been scheduled for noon, and he deemed it unlikely that many people would loiter in the dining hall for two and a half hours. However, he did not feel like causing his father's ego to be deflated any more than it already had been. So, with bags in hand, the four trudged towards the dining hall. Upon reaching the overhang that marked the building's front door, they placed their bags against the side of the brick building while James opened the door and peered inside. To his dismay, not a soul stirred inside the dining hall. Crumbs, drink spills, and used plates littered the tables, implying that lunch had ended mere minutes earlier.

He hung his head and looked at Mystic out of the corner of his eye. "Well, at least we can check into our rooms. We'll have a good time yet. Come on, Mystic."

The magenta vixen grabbed her suitcase and turned to follow her husband, but before she moved away, she whispered, "I'm sorry" to both Fox and Krystal. Then, she and James rounded the corner of the dining hall and disappeared from view.

With Fox's father and stepmother out of earshot, Krystal sighed. Her ears and tail fell, as did her expression. "Damn it to blazes," she muttered under her breath. "I knew I shouldn't have come here. I don't know anyone else in your family anyway; and it's going to be so hard to explain our relationship to them."

Fox's eyes softened. "It's okay, Krystal," he replied, moving towards her and drawing her in for a gentle embrace. "I'll make it up to you. When we check into our room, I'll give you that massage you asked for."

The blue vixen patted him on the back. "I appreciate that, Fox. I know this isn't your fault."

The sound of approaching boots shattered Fox and Krystal's intimate moment. The two separated in the blink of an eye and turned towards the left corner of the dining hall in time for a familiar red vixen to appear.

Scarlet wore a weather-appropriate waterproof catsuit with an attached hood and shiny black texture that accentuated her enviable physique. A smile crossed her lips as she sized up Fox and Krystal.

"Hey cousin!" she blurted out, darting towards him and giving him a quick hug, which she punctuated with a quick kiss on the lips.

Fox broke away from her and took a rapid step back. "Whoa, hey! You can't do that! We're not together anymore!"

"I don't see why that's a problem," Scarlet replied with her sultry, carefree voice. "You've still got a special place in my heart."

"That's great," Fox grumbled, crossing his arms, "…But I'm with Krystal now."

Krystal frowned and glared at the red vixen. Having already suffered enough on the road trip to the retreat she had little enthusiasm for, she had no desire to interact with Fox's bodacious ex who also had a mildly disturbing distant blood relationship to him.

Scarlet smiled. "Aw…you two are so cute together. Really, I'm happy for you. No hard feelings at all."

Fox raised an eyebrow, although his voice expressed a hint of gratitude. "Really?"

"Yeah!" said Scarlet, a gleam in her eyes. "After what you and Hartmann told me on the plane in East Fortuna, I realized you were both right. I needed a _real_ relationship, not just a month of lascivious, sensuous love-making."

Krystal rolled her eyes.

Ignoring the Cerinian, Scarlet motioned to her left, around the corner of the building. "So, I got in touch with a sexy hunk that I used to know and apologized for a few broken bones. One thing led to another, and now I'm in the longest, most satisfying relationship of my life."

"That's great, Scarlet. You've got me curious now. I want to meet the man who managed to keep you in a long-term relationship. He must be quite a guy."

"Oh, he most certainly is," said Scarlet, glancing around the corner as another set of boots clapped against the concrete ground. The vixen turned towards the approaching man and called out, "Hey, hot stuff, someone wants to see you. I think you might have met him before."

"Huh?" a gruff voice grunted from behind the corner.

Fox watched in anticipation as Scarlet's newfound lover approached. He wondered what kind of man he was, considering that maintaining a stable relationship with Scarlet could have been considered an expert-level exploit requiring a combination of cunning, wit, sex appeal, and the willingness to engage in some level of psychopathic behavior. Clearly, whoever this man was, he possessed every one of these skills.

Two seconds later, Wolf O'Donnell rounded the corner and stood next to Scarlet. Like the vixen, he wore waterproof rain gear, although obviously not as suggestive as hers. Despite Scarlet standing six feet tall with her boots, Wolf still edged her out in terms of height. His one functioning eye widened in surprise upon seeing Fox, but it quickly narrowed in anger.

Fox locked eyes with his arch-rival, stunned by the sudden turn of events. Unable to comprehend the fact that his ex was now dating his worst living enemy, he glared at Scarlet and muttered, "Fuck."

Scarlet smirked and whispered into Wolf's ear. "You know, that's a great idea. What else is there to do on a rainy day like this one?"

"Heh," Wolf chuckled. "Works for me." Taking Scarlet by the hand, he turned towards the corner of the building. However, before he left, he waved to Fox with his free hand and grinned deviously at him. "Catch you later, pup."

Fox stood in stunned silence as Wolf and Scarlet walked away. Suddenly, he felt in complete agreement with Krystal. He did not want to be here anymore. As the rain picked up once again, he looked in the direction of his home with a wistful, longing stare.

"Fox, are you okay?" Krystal asked him, concern in her voice.

Fox kept his focus on the distant horizon, never once making eye contact with the blue vixen. "We're getting out of here."


	2. Action Hacker

_AUTHOR'S NOTE(S):_

 _Fun fact: this is the first time I've ever bothered writing in first person. This should be interesting.  
_

 _Also, remember when I suggested that these stories weren't for people who like lofty narratives? Well, that really applies to this one._

* * *

 **Action Hacker**

 _Timeline:_ _Eight months after the end of_ Sierra Foxtrot

The months following Fox's dramatic rampage inside Wolf's command base had not been kind to Anthracite Security. In addition to being forced to replace their destroyed attack helicopter, hire new staff to replace the soldiers killed by Fox and his minions, and repair the facilities damaged in the wake of the sudden base invasion, Wolf's PMC lost their most lucrative business contract—supplying contraband armaments and chemical weapons to the East Fortunan rebellion. Wolf correctly attributed the loss of this contract to Fox's meddling.

Inside Wolf's security center that featured a long, wide glass window overlooking a large assembly area on the main floor below, two husky soldiers sat in chairs next to each other, staring at a pair of computer monitors.

"It's almost time for my lunch break," said the first canine, named Liam. "Think you'll be able to handle things while I'm out?"

The second soldier, named Marcel, sneered and rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm sure I'm perfectly capable of handling this huge steaming pile of nothing without you. Sheesh—if I wasn't afraid the boss or that creepy lizard might drop in, I'd be sawing logs in the corner over there."

Liam sighed in agreement. "I feel you, man. I can't exactly blame the boss for being on edge, though—having his cybersecurity network compromised so quickly has made him really skittish."

Marcel rolled his eyes again. "You know, if he had taken my advice and set up the security protocols _I told him to use_ , none of this BS with Foxfire would have happened. But what did he say? 'It's not that important right now.' Ha—as far as I'm concerned, there was no security network! That creepy blue frog in the wheelchair had instant access to everything."

"You know who that was, right?" asked Liam.

"No. Who?"

"That was Slippy in disguise."

Marcel slammed his fist on his desk. "Dammit! I should've known he'd be back for revenge! Actually, I _did_ expect him to try something, but that disguise was too good! How did he lower his voice like that?"

Liam dropped the tone of his voice an entire octave, but it cracked within seconds. "I have no id….ack!"

"Whatever," Marcel grumbled. "Just hurry up and finish the ammunition order forms so you can eat lunch and give me some time to myself without you yammering in my ear."

"Sure thing, 'buddy'," Liam replied, focusing his eyes on the screen in front of him. He scanned the order form that he had been assembling for the previous half hour, looking to see if any items had been excluded or duplicated. After two minutes, he confirmed the order and clicked the button on the bottom of his secure web page to enter the billing phase of the purchase. Having stored the payment information from previous orders, he rifled through the menus and finalized the transaction.

To his surprise and frustration, an error message occurred.

" _Order cancelled – inadequate funds."_

"What the hell…?" Liam muttered under his breath.

Noticing his counterpart's confusion, Marcel stood up and moved behind Liam's chair. "What happened?"

"It says we don't have the money to buy this stuff," Liam replied, glancing over his shoulder.

Marcel's eyes focused on the screen instead of Liam's face. "Hang on a second—how were you paying for this?"

"Cryptocoins," said Liam. "They're untraceable, and the value is pretty good right now. I don't know why it won't take my order."

"Let me see this," grumbled Marcel, pushing Liam's chair off to the right and standing in front of the computer screen. His fingers danced across the keyboard as he opened Anthracite Security's live banking program, which displayed the PMC's various forms of held currency, both hard and fiat. He scrolled over to a tab detailing the credit value of digital Cryptocoins held by the company.

K0.00

" _Hang on a second."_

Baring a canine tooth, he glared at Liam and snapped, "Check this out."

Liam rolled his chair back towards the keyboard and stared at the giant goose-egg that was the PMC's Cryptocoin balance. "What? How is that possible?"

"You don't think a certain black pussycat took that money to buy himself an exotic sports car again, do you?"

Liam stared at the screen with fear in his eyes. "After what Wolf threatened to do to him last time that happened, I don't think he'll ever try it again. Here—let me look at the transaction history." Ignoring Marcel's personal space, he shoved him aside and opened a tab detailing the Cryptocoin account's most recent actions.

"This is madness!" he all but yelled.

"Calm down, twinkletoes," Marcel snapped back. "What's the matter?"

"There are no transactions! The account history just has straight zeros, as if Anthracite never even owned any Cryptocoins!"

Marcel raised a nervous eyebrow. "Uh oh."

"I have a sinking feeling about this," replied Liam, staring at the floor.

Crossing his arms, Marcel commented, "Well, looks like you'll need to push your lunch back another half hour and head to the boss's office so you can tell him our Cryptocoin account got hacked and all our money is gone."

A look of naked fear appeared in Liam's eyes. "He's going to kill me."

"Probably. Best to get it over with," Marcel replied.

* * *

 _-_ § _-_

* * *

As much as Liam would have preferred Wolf's office to be located on the extreme perimeter of the sizable command building that also functioned as the base's barracks, it was positioned painfully close to the security center. A mere thirty second walk down a single flight of stairs, around a corner, and through an adjacent left hallway brought him to Wolf's door. Reflecting the lupine's lack of interest in opulence and devotion to the bottom line, it looked no different from any of the other silver metal-fronted doors.

Knowing what would happen if he turned the doorknob without announcing his presence, he rapped on the door with the back of his hand. The metal clanged, alerting the room's occupants of his presence. Through the door, the husky heard a series of rustling noises and a duo of panicked voices.

" _Someone's outside! Quick! Zip up!"_

The sound of a long zipper being pulled up reached Liam's ears. Then, a wheeled chair rolled across the carpet. At that point, Wolf spoke up from inside the room. His voice indicated deep frustration and anger. "What's the matter this time? Come in!"

Liam swallowed and turned the doorknob to step into Wolf's office. The interior of the room sported red walls, a currently-powered off television screen, and a large, old, wood desk positioned in the center of the floor. Wolf himself sat behind the desk, dressed in his everyday black military fatigues with a large wolf's head emblem on his chest.

A red vixen with long, black hair and a skintight red and black catsuit lounged in a wheeled office chair in the back left corner of the room. She winked at Liam as he entered, prompting him to blush.

" _If I remember, she was with Fox when he broke into this base; and she was the one who broke Wolf's back a few months ago. How the hell is she with the boss now?"_

Wolf's incensed stare made it clear that he had little interest in answering Liam's mental question. As the husky shuffled towards his superior's desk, Wolf placed his fists on his desk and demanded, "What's the problem, Liam?"

"Sir, the Cryptocoins—they're gone."

Wolf's expression barely changed. His left eyebrow lifted approximately two millimeters. "Gone? You say?"

"The account balance is K0.00. I don't know how this happened!"

"I'm sure," Wolf replied, keeping his voice low and gravelly. "Well, since the nerd squad around here seems to think I'm not the greatest with technology, how about you tell me _what_ you think happened to this money."

"I already told you I don't know how it happened!" Liam protested.

Wolf raised his voice and leaned forward. "I didn't ask you _how_ it happened—I asked _what_ happened to it! So, what happened?"

The panicked husky made an attempt at shifting the blame somewhat. "Um, Marcel and I think someone hacked the account and stole the money."

A sadistic, yet furious and subtle grin graced Wolf's lips. "Tell me, Liam, who was it again who said that buying K2,000,000 worth of Cryptocoins was a good idea?"

Liam shuddered. "It was me, sir."

"That's what I thought. And now that _my money_ is gone, you've only got two options."

Cringe.

Wolf continued, "Either you find that money and get it back, or I send you to Leon's torture dungeon and tell him to get creative."

"No! No! No! Nooooo!" Liam shrieked, clutching his head. "Don't do that to me!"

Wolf cocked his head, a frown on his face. He pointed at his horrified underling. "If you bring me back my money, you'll be safe."

"But I don't have the skills this job needs!"

"Okay then, do you know someone who does?" Wolf asked.

Liam paused for a moment and scratched his head. Then, suddenly, a metaphorical light bulb appeared above his brain. "I know what this job needs."

"What?"

"If you want to get your money back, it's going to take someone with some serious skills—skills you can't find just anywhere. You need… an Action Hacker."

Wolf facepalmed. "A _what?"_

"An action hacker—and I know the best one in the business. If you're willing to pay him what he asks, I guarantee you'll get your money back," Liam replied, raising a finger in triumph.

"That's great," said Wolf. "But I'm not paying him a cent. That's your responsibility."

Liam suddenly felt like a Lilliputian seconds away from being stomped upon by an iron-footed colossus. "But I can't afford…"

"…To the torture dungeon, then!" Wolf shouted.

With a yelp, Liam stumbled forwards, holding his hands out in front of him. "Okay, okay! I'll hire him myself! I'll let you know when he's ready to start working."

Wolf sighed and looked at Liam out of the top of his good eye. "Good. Bring him in here if you get the chance. I'd like to meet this guy before you send him out to get my money back."

* * *

 _-_ § _-_

* * *

 _Four days later…_

Just as Wolf leaned back in his office chair, a loud knock echoed through his door's metal surface. With a groan, he yelled, "Come on!"

The door opened, revealing Liam—who looked like he had not slept much in the past 72 hours—and a less-than-tall shiba inu who wore the most basic of black sweaters and a pair of fitted dark blue jeans. Although he did not appear physically extraordinary, the snug fit of his clothes suggested a respectable amount of muscle. However, Wolf's attention drifted to the canine's dark black sunglasses, which he refused to remove even after entering the dimly-lit office.

Wolf sighed and rested his head on his fist. "Liam, who's this?"

"It's the action hacker, sir," Liam replied.

A groan escaped Wolf's mouth. He tried making eye contact with the shiba, but his ultra-dark glasses prevented him from seeing the whites of his eyes. "So," Wolf grumbled, "What makes you think you'll be able to get me my money back?"

In the blink of an eye, the sunglass-wearing canid whipped a tablet computer out of his back pocket and frenetically tapped at the screen while holding the device with his left hand. His digits clacked against the screen with furious intensity. Wolf thought he saw a few stray sparks fly off the tablet. Then, a lamp in the back left corner of the room shut off, followed by the overhead light, and finally, Wolf's laptop computer on the desk in front of him. The room became shrouded in total darkness apart from the white fluorescent light coming in from the hallway outside.

Wolf clenched his fists and shouted, "What the hell? How did you do that?"

The Action Hacker spoke in a confident, raspy voice better suited to an action hero than a tech whiz. "Your electrical controls were easily hacked. Just in the first two minutes of me being in your base, I mapped every outlet in this entire building to my tablet. Shutting them off was child's play." He lowered his glasses for dramatic effect. Wolf still was not able to see his eyes due to the darkness in the room.

"But why is my computer off?" Wolf demanded. "It wasn't even plugged in!"

"That joke of a machine is outdated. I bet it couldn't even run Pumpkin Pie."

"Pumpkin pie? The hell…?"

"It's the plebs' way of saying 'Macrohard OSV.16.3.' Since you obviously didn't update the OS to Service Pack 4, I was able to exploit a weakness in your CPU that put your computer into hard shutdown mode. Hope you didn't have anything important open."

"I hate you already," Wolf muttered under his breath. "What's your name, kid?"

"Doggo Sanchez, Action Hacker for hire. I also do web design on the side."

Wolf covered his muzzle with his hand. "My entire base just got hacked in ten seconds by some guy named 'Doggo.' Just kill me already."

"I can do that, too," said Doggo, slipping his tablet back into his pants pocket and extracting a black semi-auto handgun from an unseen holster somewhere inside his belt line. He pointed it at Wolf.

In an agitated voice, Wolf barked, "Hey! I wasn't being serious…although I almost wish I was."

Doggo returned his weapon to his holster before crossing his arms heroically. "So, before I start hunting down the thief who stole your Cryptocoins, do you suspect anyone in particular?"

Wolf glared at the action hacker. "I thought you were the genius here who was supposed to find that out."

The shiba shrugged. "Anything helps. Do you have any enemies who may have _really_ wanted to put the screws to you?"

"I've got a lot of enemies," Wolf replied. "The first person that comes to mind is Fox McCloud—but he's such a goody two-shoes that he would never do it. I honestly haven't got a clue who stole my cash. All I know is that my Cryptocoins are gone, and I need them back ASAP before their value tanks even more than it already has."

Doggo nodded. "A valid concern. I will work as quickly as possible."

A solemn expression on his muzzle, Wolf pointed to his office door and ordered the canine, "Get going."

As the action hacker departed Wolf's office and entered the hallway outside, the story shifted to first person.

* * *

 _-_ § _-_

* * *

As I left Anthracite Security's base and got into my Toro Giallo sports car—Action Hacking pays the bills and then some—I thought over all the digital information Wolf's men had shown me. The perpetrator(s) left virtually no trace of their presence in the base's computer system. Granted, that could have been because Wolf's understanding of cybersecurity is apparently just as bad as stereotypical fanfiction Fox McCloud's romantic confidence level.

"Ooh—I less than three you so much, Krystal. I want to bang you, but I'm too bashful because of my emotional scars from undisclosed former romantic wounds!" I whined melodramatically.

I shook my head and closed the gullwing door to my left. As I reached for my starter button, a thought occurred to me. I already knew where to find Wolf's crypto thief—Eladard. Did I really know that for sure? Of course not, but as every good computer sleuth knows, Eladard is home to 91.3% of the world's most talented hackers because the country is politically neutral and therefore is a sweet-ass escape spot for the world's most endangered and dangerous cyber menaces. How did I get that 91.3% figure, you ask? I made it up. Sounds official, don't it?

Anyway, Eladard was a solid 600 miles away from southern Katina where I was at the moment, but not for long, because I was about to head south. I could have taken a plane and shortened the trip, but why fly when you can drive? Driving is fun. Flying ends up with you getting wedged into a 15-inch seat next to a literal hippopotamus and having peanut butter spread in your hair by the 2-year-old in the seat behind you. Sure—I've got the cash to fly first class, but that ain't no fun. Besides, the roads near the Katina/Eladard border are some of the best in the world.

I sped out of the base with tires smoking and raced south towards my distant destination. As I crossed the large lake in front of the military complex via Wolf's drawbridge, another thought occurred to me. The hack job on Wolf's system was poetry in motion—it was so flawless. There was no digital trace of anything. Every detail looked official; and to the untrained eye who had no idea Wolf's cryptos had been stolen, nothing would have seemed amiss.

I stroked my muzzle after shifting into third. I'd heard of one enigmatic hacker—well, they're all enigmatic. One doesn't exactly want to broadcast their shadowy cyber awesomeness to the world because it tends to have, shall we say, repercussions. Whatever. What I'm trying to say is that the perfection of the hack in Wolf's base made me think of one hacker in particular. I'd heard stories of him for months now. He seemed to come out of nowhere, making a name for himself for his daring and high-profile digital heists of valuable data from the Red Group and Vision Engineering—both high-profile military contractors who normally sell to Macbeth and her allies. The data was sold on the black market for a small fortune.

The hacker I had in mind was called 'Kizutsuita.' That's what he's called on the Dark Web, at least. That's an Eladardian handle if I ever heard one. It only confirms that I'm headed to the right place. I've got a good contact in downtown Eladard who I think can point me in the right direction. According to what I've heard, no one has ever seen Kizutsuita in person. He supposedly never leaves his home. I can't exactly blame him. A lot of people probably want him dead.

This guy is going to be hard to track down, but if anyone can do it, I can. Some of my buddies think Kizutsuita is the best in the world right now, and it would be a feather in my metaphorical cap if I could find him and get that money back. Then I could get paid and take an awesome vacation to Isla del Friggin' Awesome and surround myself with topless babes while I sip margaritas on the beach. Now _that's_ motivation right there.

* * *

 _-_ § _-_

* * *

Five hours and forty-eight minutes later—lol, do the math on that—I arrived in Eladard. My sweet Toro Giallo's carbon ceramic disk brakes suck in urban traffic, so I left it in my downtown apartment's parking deck and got on my motorcycle. It was a beautiful night in Eladard. The crickets were chirping and the sound of distant J-Pop music echoed through the streets from the open-air stadium near the center of town. This town is weird, and that's why I love it. It's also a tax haven and all my hacker buddies live here too, but let's be realistic—I just crash here because it's so dang charming.

A quick drive through the overcrowded Eladardian streets and a jaunt down a dingy one-lane road into a rundown part of town brought me to the front doors of the Wasted Barrel, a bar owned by my friend Bernie. The bar sucks pretty bad, but it's k because it's really just a front for Bernie's money laundering operation. What? You thought I got rich _legally?_ Pfft. Yeah, right.

I parked my bike and armed the security system before I headed for the front door. What? A security system for a bike, you say? Yep, I got one. There's a tiny wad of C-4 under the seat that goes boom if the engine starts without the key or if the wheels move while it's parked. Bike theft is a problem around these parts, so this is my third one in two months. It's not a big deal, though—I buy 'em used, and bikes are cheap.

Leaving my bike in the parking lot and walking towards the Wasted Barrel's creaky double front doors, I pulled the right of the two panels open. A mortifying squeaking sound singed my ears and gave my skin a fingernails-on-a-chalkboard sensation. Undaunted, I entered the bar. Inside, three avian patrons sat on bar stools in front of the sparsely-populated taps. A single yellow-dyed lupine woman occupied a booth on the right side of the room. That was about the extent of the customer base. Bernie—who, true to his name, was a massive St. Bernard—noticed me from behind the bar and subtly waved as I moved towards him.

Traces of dirt covered his fur and his black t-shirt, reminding me that he had never been the cleanest individual. It mattered not, however. His disheveled appearance belied a herculean intellect and computer hacking skills matched only by yours truly.

Approaching the bar, I said, "Evening, my dude."

"Doggo!" he fired back. "What brings you back here again?"

I gave him a knowing look. "I think you can figure that out."

Bernie took a deep breath and shifted an eyebrow. "Ah, business, I see. Meet me in the back in a minute. I've got to clean up a spill back here."

I smiled. If anyone could help me trace the location of Kizutsuita, it was my pal behind the bar. Trying not to draw undue attention to my actions, I scooted past the drunken patrons at the bar and avoided making eye contact with the yellow wolf lady sitting by herself at one of the bar's ratty, soiled booths. Anyone unfortunate enough to get on the bad side of the Kitanai Sagashi Warrior Clan knew better than to so much as interact with any of their members.

When I reached the back of the building, Bernie opened a door leading to the area behind the bar and led me down a short, rotting hallway that smelled of fermenting bleu cheese. It couldn't have been normal cheese—bleu cheese was so much worse in every imaginable way. The 'cheese'—if you dare call it that—is so rank that the mere scent of it has the power to send my stomach into convulsions. I vividly recall one time at a burger joint that I used to frequent, I was mistakenly given a bleu cheese peppercorn burger that incited in me the urge to vomit on the spot. The projectile emulsion ended up on the waitress, whom I was attempting to flirt with. Needless to say, that ship sailed, hit a rock in the harbor, and sank instantly. I never went back to that place again, but the horror of the satanic cheese remained lodged irreparably in my brain.

It was all I could do not to barf on the floor as Bernie led me into his secret back office, illuminated only by a single yellow overhead fixture that looked like it came from a clearance sale twenty years ago. After we had both entered, Bernie locked the door behind me. My large friend walked around his desk, positioned near the back of the room next to a boarded-up window. This allowed me to survey the room. In the back left corner, piles of packaged drugs and stacks of paper money greeted my eyes. Bernie was no law-abiding citizen, but he was not a bad person, either. As far as I knew, he never actually used the drugs—he only sold them…although I happened to notice a used hypodermic needle near the stacks of white-wrapped substances…

Bernie distracted me by posing a question. "So, Doggo buddy, what brings you here? You must need my help digging something up."

My fuzzy ears stood up. "Yes," I replied, "I've been hired to steal back a butt ton of Cryptocoins that I'm pretty sure were taken by the Kizutsuita."

Upon hearing the shadowy hacker's name, Bernie's eyes flew wide. "The Kizutsuita," he all but gasped, "Doggo—that's one hell of a target. You know that no one even knows who he is, right?"

I smirked and adjusted my sunglasses, even though it was almost midnight. Cue Corey Hart.

"I know," I replied. "But I'm getting paid a pretty penny to deal with him."

"How do you even know it was him who stole the cryptos?" asked Bernie, wondering how I could have possibly been so astute. Apparently, my five years of friendship with him had not been enough to properly demonstrate my cerebral superiority and intuition that was sharper than the edge of the rusting nail I stepped on a year ago. That dang thing almost killed me. I had to get a giant needle jabbed in my arm, and it hurt like hell. Needles. Shiver. The thought makes my fur poof and my skin crawl. It's why I never got into drugs. By the way, don't do drugs, kids. They bad.

I had only one response for my friend. "I know it was him. The hack was so clean, and the hacker's goal matches up with the Kizutsuita's previous jobs. I guess it could have been someone else, but I'm almost positive it was him."

"If you don't mind me probing," said Bernie, leaning forward in his creaky office chair, "Who are you working for this time?"

I crossed my arms like a badass. "Anthracite Security."

"Interesting," my friend replied. He stroked his chin. "Did you ever notice that the Kizutsuita's hacks have all been against enemies of Corneria? Of course, we don't actually know it was him who did those because the work was so clean; but it's a safe guess because his work is _too clean_."

I smiled. "Ironic, isn't it? Now that you mention it, though, you're right—all of the Kizutsuita's hacks have been targeting Macbeth-based firms and people who work with them. What does that tell you, though?"

Bernie shrugged. "Nothing, but it does create a pattern. Maybe you're right—maybe Kizutsuita did hack your client. But even if he did, what do you want me to do about it?"

"I want your help tracking down his location," I declared, moving towards Bernie's desk.

"Why on Lylat would you do that?"

I raised an index finger. "Simple. As awesome as I am, I know my hacking skills aren't good enough for me to be able to get those cryptos back from him electronically. I've got to play to my strengths here. The only way I'm going to complete my job is if I can find Kizutsuita and 'convince' him to return the cash—physically."

Bernie paused and looked away from me for a moment. He glanced at his nearby computer screen, deep in thought. Then, he spoke. "I think that's your best shot, Doggo."

"All right," I replied, a stupid smile plastered on my lips. "Let's get cracking. Maybe we can find more of what we need on the Dark Web."

"To the Dark Web!" Bernie announced. With that, he reached for his computer keyboard and entered a portal to a realm of digital chaos.

* * *

 _-_ § _-_

* * *

 _Two hours later…_

"That was surprisingly easy," I commented, reading through the information I and Bernie had retrieved through our network of associates on the Dark Web.

In little time, we had managed to exploit a leak in the credit reporting system for a courier company responsible for delivering groceries and essential toiletries to homes and apartments. The leak revealed the transaction histories of their multi-thousand clients—and revealed one recurring client who ordered with alarming frequency. Every order contained the same items: noodles, toilet paper, toothpaste, raw seafood, and five packs of energy drinks. Sometimes different items would appear on this one particular credit card statement, but the "Big Five" were always consistent.

Bernie looked at me out of the corner of his eyes. "I think we may have found our guy."

I glanced at the computer screen and noticed the name attached to the credit card account that had been making these purchases—someone named 'Miyoshi Urena.'

"Actually, I think Kizutsuita is a girl," I suggested.

Bernie shrugged. "Well, you've got the address now, so go get 'em, buddy! Man, my pals aren't going to believe it when they found out you took down Kizutsuita singlehandedly."

I blushed, but only a little bit, because blushing heavily is a sign of weakness; and I have no known weaknesses save for the aforementioned needles and bleu cheese. "I couldn't have done it without you, Bernie. I'll catch up with you after I deal with the Kizutsuita."

"Sounds like a plan, Doggo."

* * *

 _-_ § _-_

* * *

I walked out of the Wasted Barrel and turned the corner around the side of the building, ready to fire up my bike and ride to the other side of town, where Kizutsuita's crappy apartment was. To my horror, I rounded the corner only to find a scrawny gray cat with a hoodie trying to tamper with my ride. Sprinting towards him with hands outstretched, I shouted "Nooooo!" in slow motion.

It was no use. The bike went boom-boom, and he went die-die. I shielded my head with my arms to prevent my beautiful eyes from being lacerated by flying metal and kitty chunks as a small explosion ripped a pothole in the parking lot.

I sighed and brushed off my clothes. _"I guess I'll have to borrow Bernie's car again,"_ I thought before I walked back into the bar.

Several minutes later, I emerged from Bernie's metaphorical bunghole with his keys in hand. Luckily, his car had not been damaged in the blast created by my bike exploding into a million pieces. He parked it in the last spot in the parking lot, near a rickety wooden fence that looked ready to fall over onto it. I hit the unlock button on Bernie's key fob and stepped towards the brown turd that I would be driving for the next twenty minutes. No, really—Bernie's fifteen-year-old sedan car was shaped like a streamlined bar of soap and painted in the most fecal shade of brown known to furry.

Lamenting my fate, I opened the door and dropped into the driver's seat. As I brushed aside a few balled-up fast food wrappers and started the engine, the overpowering scent of cheese puffs consumed my olfactory receptors. I cringed. Apart from the crippling allure of Jen and Gary's ice cream, nothing threatened my rippling pecs and six-pack abs like cheese puffs did. Once you start eating them, it is impossible to stop until the entire bag has been consumed—and after that, the only course of action available is to make a beeline for the closest mini-mart and pick up a second bag, preferably the family sized version.

I wished I had a clothespin for my nose, but alas—I did not. Being forced to smell my nemesis for the duration of the trip motivated me to drive faster and more aggressively. I did not fear dinging the car, because after all, it already sported numerous dents, including a bowl-shaped depression in the roof that I knew I had to ask Bernie about at some point.

After driving for twenty minutes and resisting the urge to stop at every gas station along the way to buy cheese puffs, I reached the high-rise apartment complex where Kizutsuita allegedly lived. Granted, I had little proof that the enigmatic hacker truly resided here, but it was my best bet. At the worst, all that would happen was that the apartment's resident would look at me funny after I knocked on their door. I could deal with that.

As I walked away from Bernie's car and entered the massive, rotating staircase leading to the penultimate 27th floor where I intended to stop, I thought about what I would do if the Kizutsuita was to answer the door. I had no idea what he—or she—looked like, and it was not as if I could ask them "Are you Kizutsuita?" No one in their right mind would say 'yes' to that question. I fondled my muzzle a bit too suggestively as I ascended the stairs, uncertain of my next move.

At long last, I reached the 27th floor. Kizutsuita's room was number 2708—the last door on the left. The dark, dingy hallway at the top of the stairs ended in an open-air overlook of the sprawling city's sixth sector, best known as the place where the outcasts of Eladardian society went to find cheap housing and shelter.

I approached the door. In front of it, evidence of the Kizutsuita's presence presented itself to me in the form of a giant pile of spam mail, brochures, and unwanted newspapers. I smiled to myself. My fears were for nothing. I had found my target. It was true— Kizutsuita never left his (or her) apartment, and I was about to complete my mission and get paid a lot of real money.

Summoning my all-but-limitless courage, I marched up to the door and knocked on it commandingly. Then, thanks to a bit of quick thinking, I blurted out "Delivery!" in hopes that it would inspire the shadowy hermit to open the door, after which I would strike like a samurai and incapacitate my foe in mere seconds.

The shout-out did the trick, and the door opened. In the doorway stood a short-ish vixen of a frail build. Her body lacked the feminine assets men such as myself liked, but she seemed overwhelmingly athletic. She covered herself from head to toe in dark gray cloth wrappings that hugged her form tightly while not showing even an inch of fur. Even her presumably-fluffy tail was shrouded in fabric; as was her head. Only two tiny openings allowed me to see her ice-blue eyes that radiated suspicion and surprise. Clearly, she recognized that I was not here to deliver her groceries.

I gave her no time to slam the door. Leaping forward, I shouted, "Hand over the Cryptocoins!" As I lunged towards her with fists at the ready, the story shifted back to third person.

* * *

 _-_ § _-_

* * *

Kizutsuita jumped to the side the instant Doggo charged her and kicked the back of his left leg as he reached her. His knee buckled, and he faceplanted onto the gray carpet inside the apartment. Kizutsuita prepared to jump onto his back and place him in a chokehold, but the shiba rolled over in the blink of an eye and stood up with cartoonish speed.

The two fighters sized each other up, fists held at the ready in front of them.

"I see you're an action hacker, too," said Doggo, his eyes still obscured by his pitch black shades.

Kizutsuita replied in a gruff voice that managed to sound too similar to that of an angry anime girl. "There can be only one."

In spite of the enigmatic vixen's murderous implication, Doggo offered her an olive branch. "It doesn't have to be this way. I just need you to hand over those Cryptocoins you stole from Anthracite Security."

Kizutsuita's long, pointy ears—also gently wrapped in fabric—poked up a little higher than before. "I don't have them anymore."

Doggo's spirits deflated like a punctured party balloon. "What?! Why?"

Kizutsuita opened her hands and snapped, "Do I look stupid to you? The value is crashing by the day! They won't be worth anything soon! I had to get rid of them!"

"Okay then—hand over the _real_ money you exchanged them for."

"No. Fark off. Get out of my apartment, you fraud. I'm the original action hacker."

"Fake news," Doggo retorted.

"No. _You're_ fake news. Fark off."

"Why do you keep saying that?"

"Better question: why are you not leaving?"

Doggo tightened his fists and prepared for a fight. "Because I've got a job to do, and I'm not leaving until every last credit you stole is returned to its rightful owner."

Kizutsuita rolled her eyes. "I vowed to change my ways when I finished my training a few months ago, but I think I'm going to make an exception for you. Get ready to die."

"You just made your last mistake," Doggo confidently asserted.

The instant he spoke, he reached for his hidden holster and whipped out his handgun. He took aim at Kizutsuita, but she sprinted towards him so quickly that he had no chance to fire it. The vixen swiped it out of his hands with a violent karate chop; then, when his attention drifted to his suddenly-absent weapon, she uppercut him in the chin.

The shiba stumbled backwards and hit the wall behind him. Yet still, he refused to allow the shadowy hacker to get the better of him. He lashed out with a panicked yet focused side kick. Kizutsuita jumped back and avoided the attack, but it allowed Doggo to regain his composure and move towards her, all while reclaiming his fighting stance. She matched him. The two circled in a small area between a gray couch in the main living area and the sparsely-decorated kitchen behind it.

After a five-second lapse in the fight, Kizutsuita hurled a trio of quick punches at the shiba. He blocked them with little effort. What he did not predict, however, was his enemy taking advantage of her insane reflexes and launching into a back hook kick with speed that should not have been possible. He jumped to the side, but that back of the vixen's foot slammed into his shoulder and forced him off his balance.

He stumbled and crashed into a cheap metal coffee table next to the vixen's couch. The poorly made piece of furniture buckled under his weight, causing one of its frame pieces to break loose and spear him in the abdomen. Doggo let out a canine squeak and gasped as the sensation of wet blood trickled through his black shirt.

Fighting through the pain, he pushed himself up. To his dismay, before he could rise to his feet, Kizutsuita raced towards him and slammed into his stomach with a low, flying side kick. His spine buckled, and he folded back into the wreckage of the coffee table. His head smashed into the gray couch's left arm and gave him instant whiplash. A throbbing pain rifled through his skull, adding to the agony he felt from his abdominal stab wound. Seeing stars, he clawed his way back to his feet, expecting the Kizutsuita to hit him yet again.

To his surprise, she did not. Rather, she darted into the kitchen and disappeared behind the sink. The sound of drawers opening and silverware rattling filled the air. For a moment, he wondered if he had slipped into a hallucination. However, seconds later, she reemerged into the living room, holding a rounded cutting implement in her dominant left hand.

" _Is that a_ … _pizza wheel?"_

The vixen advanced towards him, ready to strike. Doggo had fought armed opponents many times before, however. Her pizza wheel did not scare him. If anything, it took away her ability to strike with her fists and provided him with a sudden advantage.

Ignoring his wobbly vision, bleeding stomach, and splitting headache, he stepped towards his foe and hurled a right roundhouse kick at her. With seemingly no effort whatsoever, Kizutsuita kicked her left leg out and blocked his leg with hers. The unexpected parry knocked Doggo off balance; and he fell to the floor in a split. The horrifying sound of his jeans ripping prompted the vixen's ears to spike.

"You call _that_ a roundhouse kick?" Kizutsuita taunted, "I'll show you a roundhouse kick."

While Doggo grappled with an overextended tendon in his right leg that no longer wanted to work, the vixen backed up until her shoulder blade touched the far right edge of the kitchen counter behind her. Then, she sprinted at top speed towards the shiba and shifted her weight onto her right leg. Using the momentum from her dash to build power, she whipped her left leg forwards and around for a roundhouse of her own.

The impact of her foot smashed into Doggo's side with so much force that it knocked him clean off his feet and sent him flying across the living room towards the massive panoramic window that looked out over the city of Eladard. Due to safety concerns and regulations, the window was composed of nigh-unbreakable Plexiglas. However, it did nothing to end Doggo's flight.

He crashed through the window with a bloodcurdling scream and flew out of the high-rise building. He flailed about, helpless to prevent himself from plummeting over two hundred feet to his inevitable demise.

Kizutsuita was not finished.

She juggled her pizza wheel in her left hand, then wound up and hurled it through the break in the window. Seconds later, Doggo's screams fell silent as the pizza wheel ripped his head from his neck. His bifurcated cranium soared through the air before it slammed into a sidewalk and exploded in front of a homeless badger who happened to be out and about. The vagrant screamed and flailed his arms about, sprinting into traffic and causing two nearby cars to collide at an intersection.

Back inside the apartment, Kizutsuita took a series of deep breaths to calm herself. Then, she ripped the cloth off her muzzle and head and sprinted into her bathroom, where she turned on a set of vanity lights and gazed into her mirror. A hideous sight greeted her. Traces of faded, light red fur jutted out from significant patches of bare skin, some of which bore unsightly burn marks. The left side of her muzzle had been damaged to the point where her teeth and gums were constantly visible.

As she stared at her own grotesque appearance, she smiled and pumped her fist while resisting the urge to cry tears of joy. "Fark yes! Now I finally have the money to pay for that experimental fur replacement surgery! I will be beautiful again! And then…"

She smirked.

"…I'll be coming for you, my senpai!"

* * *

 _-_ § _-_

* * *

 _Several days later…_

"What do you mean, he's dead?!" Wolf yelled, his ears flat against his skull.

His tail between his legs, Liam whimpered, "He's not answering my calls. I can't get any updates on anything. This isn't like him at all! He promised me he'd be done by now!"

A single tooth poked out from Wolf's mouth as he tapped a pencil on his desk to stave off his building rage. He raised his head and stared at his underling. "Well, you know what this means."

Liam cringed.

"To the torture dungeon!"

A second later, Wolf's office door opened, and a lanky chameleon wearing an overly tight navy blue bodysuit waltzed in. A savage, demented grin coated his lips. "Ooh—I think I'll torture you a bit before I kill you!" he exulted, placing his hands a bit too fondly on Liam's shoulders.

The husky glanced at Leon out of the corner of his eye, then looked back to Wolf.

"No—No—NOOOOOOOO!"


End file.
